


the museum

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 03:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12718653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: Thor loves going to the museum.





	the museum

One thing the team comes to discover is that apparently, Thor is a very,  _very_ big fan of museums. That’s certainly not something they’d been expecting, but sure enough, whenever the god of thunder has plans of his own for the day, it’s always “I’m going to the museum.” They don’t even ask which one specifically anymore. There are plenty in New York alone, and he probably visits a different one each time, seeing all the new exhibits that come and go over the months. Whenever he comes back, sometimes he’ll run into Steve or Natasha or someone or other, and they ask him how his day has gone. And he’ll smile a warm smile and tell them it was wonderful. There’s nothing but sincerity dripping in his voice.

 _“I’m glad to hear it,”_ Steve would say, a smile of his own on his face.  _“You know, I think it’s great you’ve found something that interests you so much. It’s nice to get away from the tower every now and then.”_

Thor would nod in agreement.  _“I like to see the works of art you have here on Earth. They’re…”_ He’d trail off, trying to find the right word.  _“Unique. There’s nothing like them in Asgard.”_  Steve called his penchant for going to museums a great opportunity to “widen his horizons.” Whatever that means. Something poetic probably. Rogers is a poetic man.

There’s a ghost of a smile on the god’s face today as he gets ready, and it’s still there when he’s washing his dishes after eating breakfast. To any outsider, it looks like he just really loves to do the dishes. But to the team, it’s a signal that Thor has plans, and there’s no reason to ask what they might be. Tony walks into the kitchen, lips twitching in amusement at seeing a being thousands of years old washing dishes. Said being hasn’t noticed his arrival, so he speaks up.

“Hey, Point Break.”

With a sigh, Thor glances up, smile gone for just a moment to show his distaste for the nickname. He wonders if he’d pretended to like it if Tony would’ve let it drop. But it’s not like it would matter anyway. Point Break is here to stay. He raises a brow but keeps silent because he knows Tony is going to continue.

“You’re dressed early today. Where you off to?”

Thor dries his hands and smiles again. It reaches his eyes. “The museum.”

As he says this, Tony mouths the words silently, already having known Thor’s answer. When he mouths it perfectly, he nods and chuckles. “Right. I should’ve guessed. Well, have fun.”

“I will.” Thor approaches him and gives him a pat on the shoulder before walking around him and leaving. As he leaves, Natasha enters, and he says a quiet good morning but doesn’t stop walking.

Natasha comes to a stop next to Tony, and both of them stare out the door Thor had just left through. “The museum?”

Tony nods once. “Where else?”

“I dunno.” Natasha shrugs. “Do you ever think that maybe he’s lying?”

“Why would he lie?”

Natasha sighs and realizes she doesn’t really know why. It had just been a passing thought, a  _what-if._ But Thor appears to be genuinely interested in museums and there’s no fault in that. She wishes she were as passionate about anything as he was about art. So she shrugs again, and it’s sufficient enough an answer for Tony.

———

As Thor walks down the street, he takes a deep breath, inhaling a lungful of city air. It doesn’t matter if it were a Sunday morning or a Wednesday evening: New York would always be bustling. The city thrums with life, the roar of subway trains on their tracks beneath the ground its steady heartbeat. Today it’s overcast, sun reflecting off the blanket of clouds and making it difficult to look up at the sky without needing to squint. Mjolnir is an umbrella grasped in his right hand which he decides had been a good choice because it looks like it might rain later.

When he comes up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, he smiles as he sees people walking up the stairs and through the glass doors. There’s always a crowd here. It’s one of the more popular tourist sites of the city. He walks straight past the building. His destination isn’t for another few blocks.

The dark-brick apartment building looks just like any other apartment building crammed into the small space of Manhattan, but it sticks out to Thor. Less like a sore thumb and more like a flower in a crack on the sidewalk. He slips inside, skirting around tenants making their way outside. The elevator ride is quiet, as he’s the only one in there. There isn’t even any music. A ding signals his arrival on the correct floor, and as the door slides open, he sees an old woman and her small dog waiting patiently. He gives them both a polite smile, then walks down the hallway, not bothering to look at the numbers upon each door. He’s been here enough times that he could find the correct flat with his eyes closed.

Three knocks. You perk up when you hear them and already know who it is before you’ve even opened the door. The metal doorknob is cold in your hand as you twist it, but Thor’s chuckle when you smile widely at his arrival is warm, and his arms as they wrap around you to engulf you in a hug are warmer still.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, nuzzling your hair. His grip around your waist tightens and he hoists you up. You squeal and laugh, legs kicking out behind you, and he can’t help but laugh too as he walks inside with you in his arms still, kicking the door shut with his foot. He sets you down and your head is tilted up towards him, your lips curved up in a smile that never seems to leave your beautiful face, and he’s aching to touch you in some way. So he brings his hands up to your face, thumbs stroking back and forth along your cheekbones. You set your much smaller hand over one of his own, feeling the roughness of his skin from all his fighting.

“I missed you too,” you respond softly. “I missed your voice. The apartment feels empty without it.”

This time, when Thor smiles again, it’s slightly sadder. “Well I’m here to fill it again. Come.” He gently takes your hand to lead you to the couch, and you let him even though you both know it’s not necessary. You know your way around the flat perfectly fine. You do live here after all. But when the god of thunder wants to be your eyes, you let him be your eyes. Even after you’re both sat down, he doesn’t let go.

You ask him if there’s been anything interesting, any super-secret missions he’ll tell you about if you sweet talk him enough. And he chuckles as he wraps his arm around you to pull you closer, because holding your hand isn’t enough. He tells you about some of the assignments the team has been sent on, but nothing strictly confidential. He mentions that Bruce and Tony are working on something down in the lab but he doesn’t know what, only that on occasion he’ll hear an explosion and then some loud cursing.

Then he turns the tables and asks what you’ve been up to, but you only shrug and admit it’s nothing as exciting as what he seems to get up to. There’s lunch with a friend, and visiting Mrs. Blake and her dog five doors down. She makes good tea, you remark. Thor’s listening intently because it all does sound interesting, contrary to what you might think. Your lives run at different paces, that’s all. He might be fighting off the bad guys and flying from realm to realm through the universe, but life looks awfully different from the ground, and so when you speak, he absorbs every word.

“Will I ever meet your friends?” you ask after a few minutes of silence spent simply holding each other. You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes on him without  _really_ being on him, and he glances down into cloudy eyes which match the cloudy skies outside the window.

He sighs deeply. “You will. I promise.” He brushes stray strands of your hair behind your ear, and when you sit up, his hand drops back down in his lap. “I just want you to myself a little longer.”

This makes you smile, but you know it’s not the truth. And Thor doesn’t have to tell you out loud the real reason. It goes without saying that the Avengers have a lot of enemies, and any loved one is a weakness. He will fight tooth and nail to keep you safe should someone come after you, but he wants to avoid risking anything in the first place. You understand that. Of course you do. And when you say that to yourself, that he’s keeping you a secret to keep you safe, you snuggle back into his side, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Thor’s chest feels tight and it’s almost like he can’t breathe. He kisses your head but doesn’t pull away, his eyes sliding shut as he memorizes the way you feel in his arms. The Eternal Flame is no match for the endless glow of your soul which makes you warm all over, and he thinks he might catch on fire. When he opens his eyes, he stares at Mjolnir, still in umbrella form, sitting on the small dining table. A few raindrops hit the window, the precursor to a heavy rainfall.

He tells you he loves you then, and his heart wrenches from just how much he means it. You tell him you love him too, more than anything, and reach up to set a hand on his face now, feeling the roughness of his beard; the high points of his cheeks; the bridge of his nose, the bow of his lips. And he lets you trail your fingers along his skin as much as you please, feather-light touches like little ghosts. Your fingertips slide down his forehead, past his eyebrows, and his eyes slide closed as you get down to his eyelids. You pause there, and after a beat of silence, quietly admit that you wish you could see what his eyes look like.

He takes your hand and lowers it, eyes opening as he positions your palm to rest right over his heart, its beating steady and thunderous in the confines of his ribcage, threatening to break free at any moment. Eyes are windows to the soul but you have no need to peer in. You could  _feel_ the soul of a person, and Thor has never known anyone who could do that. That’s what he says. And suddenly your shoulders don’t look so heavy and he smiles fondly. You know things differently and he’d argue you know them  _better_. You feel the lifeblood of all you touch and your own soul resonates with compassion and he wonders what he ever did to deserve you.

You heart is a museum with no price of admission, and upon the walls are all the people you’ve ever loved. Thor always hoped there was room for him, because he wants so desperately to be a part of it all. And there was: the last space behind red velvet ropes that has been empty for a long time now, as if waiting for him. He’s seen millennia come and go, stars come to life and die in what seems like a fraction of a second, yet never has he experienced the way galaxies collide when he looks into your murky eyes, which see more than you think, and his soul squeezes to the point of pain at the sight of its companion.


End file.
